


the black on your fingertips

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [19]
Category: The 100
Genre: Canon Universe, F/M, Season 2, War Paint, grounders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A warrior needs war paint," Indra instructed. “No warrior can be painted until they learn what their mark is to mean and that they are going to use it wisely.”</p><p>For prettiest-warrior's prompt on tumblr: Linctavia and the fact that their mf war paint matches Discuss</p><p>Lincoln and Octavia's war paint matches, and here's why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the black on your fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> I HAD NO INSPIRATION SO I WROTE AND HOPED FOR THE BEST. HELLO.
> 
> I like to head cannon that each mark of war paint signifies something, so I added that in and went with it. Also, I like the idea that Indra and Lincoln are mother and son. Js.

“A warrior needs war paint,” Indra instructed, nodding at Octavia. The latter of the two women nodded, glancing around at the other warriors that surrounded her. Each of them wore the blank ink that was smudged across their faces, alongside a firm and blank look. She wouldn’t feel afraid, Octavia decided. The woman in front of her; the woman she was second to, nodded at a man to her left. His face was covered half in the blue ink of a tattoo, and the rest had three jagged finger lines of black, as if he’d done it in a rush.

“Find Lincoln,” she told him. Indra must have caught Octavia’s confusion because she rolled her eyes, ordering the group to disperse and nodding for the younger girl to walk alongside her. “The war paint is only given to warriors,” she explained. “Each mark must symbolise something; it gives a warrior strength for when they are down, advice for when they are afraid.”

“I didn’t think warriors were supposed to be afraid,” Octavia replied, not looking at Indra, but straight ahead, as she had learnt. She heard a scoff, all the same.

“Everyone feels fear,” Indra replied. “Warriors more than most. The best warrior is the one that can use it; turn it into something more and fight back.” Octavia nodded as Indra lead her through Lincoln’s village. Around her, people still gave the Sky Girl wary looks; as if they weren’t sure that her being in their land was a good idea just yet. She ignored their expressions and stared resolutely forward as she marched in step with her commanding officer. “No warrior can be painted until they understand that; until they learn what their mark is to mean and that they are going to use it wisely.”

Indra stopped then, and Octavia followed suit. She glanced over, finding Indra’s cold stare drilling into her face. “You will understand,” she commanded. “All warriors must.”

“I will understand,” Octavia agreed. Indra stared for just a moment longer before turning swiftly and marching onwards, Octavia hastening to catch up. They met with Lincoln in a hut, lit with torches on the walls. Everything was bathed in a yellow glow and he waited for them, his face alight with orange, sat in the centre of the hut. The ground was covered in furs; two small pots to his side filled with murky ink, and a space in front of him. Indra nodded her forward.

“The receiving of a warrior’s marks are a private thing,” Indra told her. “I have informed Lincoln of what your marks are to be and he will issue them as the closest one to you. You will understand before he gives them, or you will not receive them at all.” With a single nod, Indra turned, shutting the wooden door of the hut behind her.

The white light that had filtered through was now cut off, and Octavia shifted from where she sat, crossed-legged on the furs, looking to Lincoln.

“Who gave you your marks?” She whispered, afraid Indra was listening in. Lincoln smiled a little ruefully, shaking his head.

“Indra,” he replied. Octavia raised her eyebrows and looked away, picking up the pot of blue ink first; the same colour as the tattoos, but she could tell it was different. “She is not my mother, but she raised me after my parents were murdered when I was small. She was the closest one to me when I became a warrior, and so she gave me my marks.” Octavia swallowed, not knowing what to say in response. Instead, Lincoln continued talking.

“The paint symbolises our unity, as well as a lesson for every warrior to learn. Hold out your hands.” She did as she was told, resting her hands palm-upwards in front of her. Lincoln stuck two fingers into the ink, covering them in blue. “First I give you the mark of the clan; that you march with us now.” He dragged the blue from the base of her palms to the tips of her centre three fingers, before dipping them back into the bowl and doing the same for her other hand. The he sits the bowl away, wiping his fingers on his trousers.

Octavia glanced at the blue stripes for a moment before levelling her gaze at Lincoln once more; she liked the way the light danced across the angles of his face; his eyes glowing in the yellow haze.

“Octavia Blake,” Lincoln started, his voice firm and solid instead of quiet like it had been before. “A warrior feels as much fear as any other; but as a warrior, you will push through it, use it, harness it as your own.” She nodded, her eyes flicking down to where he picked up the second bowl. “The mark you are getting is about sacrifice; that you must give up much to succeed; that it is okay to do so. You must learn that others may die but they do it for a greater cause; you must learn that even your life is expendable if it is for our people and our well-being.”

Even if Octavia was a little unsure about the wording (and she was), she nodded, closing her eyes as Lincoln held his thumb up to her face, gentling smudging the ink into her skin.

“What is Indra’s?” She asked lowly as he worked, creating a design across her features.

“Strength,” he replied.

“And yours?”

“Sacrifice.” She was tempted to open her eyes to look at him, but she resisted.

“We have the same markings?” Octavia questioned, instead.

“Yes. We must learn the same lesson.”

“Have you?”

“In some cases.” The pressure of his thumb moved to her other eye. “I will give my life for a righteous cause, but I am still learning to let others do so.” Octavia didn’t respond and Lincoln worked in silence, until he lifted his thumb away at last and her eyes flickered open. He nodded once, before holding up a shard of reflective glass – almost like a mirror but not as clear – to her.

Her breath caught in her throat as Octavia stared at the woman looking back. She hadn’t seen herself for a long while; her hair was braided and her jaw was sharper than she knew it was. Cuts littered her skin and she found a slight bruising at the bottom of her cheek, from sparring. But she then turned her attention to the war paint that Lincoln had put on her; the three points on each eye; one up, two down and couldn’t help but smile a little. It wasn’t as dark as his; as obvious and filled in, but weaker, as if rain had poured down on her face.

“This is it?” She asked. Lincoln nodded, smiling at her now.

“Yes. Oktevia Bleik kom Skaikru – plangona.” Octavia smiled too, reflecting his happiness at her instatement. Octavia Blake of the Sky People – a warrior.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Please click the kudos button and tell me your thoughts in the comments!


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